Point Man
by LastChancetoBreathe
Summary: Yes, where is that little Point Man of yours? Misplaced him, have you?
1. Chapter 1

In an effort to break writer's block, as well as to write down some demanding plot bunnies that I've had ever since I saw this amazing movie, I started writing this…so if you're reading my other stories that I have not finished yet, that pesky writer's block is my problem. Hopefully this'll help. =D

Okay, some important info for you all before you read. This is set about seven years or so before _Inception_ and Mal is still alive (whether or not she is going to play any part in this story has yet to be determined…) Arthur is new to the job, so if he seems a little less…uh…put together?...than he is in the movie, that would be the reason. I figured he had to work on his epicness for a few years before he actually became the cool, collected Point Man he is later on. =D

Also, no slash will be present in this story.

Disclaimer: I dreamed I owned _Inception_...that doesn't count? No? Bummer...

Annnnd, I think that's all. Enjoy!

* * *

Arthur came out of the dream with a gasp, finding himself on the floor. Confusion fluttered through him. It was too early, he was certain of it…and a glance around the room where his teammates still lay sleeping next to their mark only confirmed his suspicions. So what…?

Then he felt the cold muzzle of a gun resting just below his hairline.

He swallowed and slowly raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. It wasn't the first time that he'd had a gun held on him before, but this time he was in the real world and getting shot here didn't wake you up.

"Nice of you to join us in the land of the living. Arthur, was it?" A deep, Russian voice cooed behind him.

"Yes…who are you?" Arthur asked in an even tone, trying to keep his uncertainty and fear from showing.

"You need not worry about that right now. More important matters first, get up." A nudge from the gun convinced him of the necessity of obeying that command.

Arthur stood up slowly, still not gathering the courage to glance behind him to see who was jeopardizing his life. His hands wiped nervously against his jeans as he tried to find a solution to this mess.

A short, incredulous laugh sounded behind him. "I can't believe Cobb chose you as his point man, you're no more than a boy."

Arthur stiffened. Sure, he was young, just barely turned twenty-two, but that hardly qualified as a boy in his mind. _I need to get some new clothes, maybe that will help._ He thought as he glanced down at his faded jeans and black T-shirt.

"Hands up where I can see them, please," the man spoke again.

Arthur reluctantly obeyed, only to jump the next moment as his captor's free hand began to pat him down.

Another soft chuckle sounded from behind him. "A little on edge, are we? Well, I can't have you pulling a weapon on me, can I?"

Arthur bit his lip, inwardly fuming at himself. He did _not_ want to come across as a newbie to this man, but he was failing miserably. Not to mention he _was _a newbie, which didn't help matters any.

The man had just finished checking him for weapons – and took away his penknife, he gloomily noted– when the door to the hotel room they were in opened up. A tall, well-built man with dark hair and grey eyes popped his head in. "Are you finished yet?"

"Yes."

"Then come on, we've only got a few minutes to get clear of this place." He disappeared back out into the hall again.

"You heard the man." Another nudge with the gun. "Get going."

Arthur froze._ Get going? They're…kidnapping me? But why?_ He shot a desperate glance at Cobb and Eames, still blissfully slumbering away, willing them to wake up. And where was the man who had been monitoring them while they were asleep? Surely someone, _anyone_, would see that he was being kidnapped. It was a hotel, after all, not some creepy abandoned warehouse that Cobb usually did his experiments in.

This time a rough shove came from behind him, making him stumble a few steps towards the door. "Don't test me, kid, get moving. And I would suggest you not try anything, the end result would not be…pleasant."

Arthur shuddered, but continued out the door into the hallway, where the brown-haired man waited impatiently for them. Seeing them emerge, his hand darted out and he grasped Arthur's arm tightly above the elbow. "Come on, the car's waiting for us."

He winced as the man's fingers dug tightly into his upper arm and tugged him along. The man who had been threatening him before came up beside him, walking briskly. He was clean-shaven, pale, with almost white-blond hair and piercing blue eyes. A thin smile crossed his features as he caught Arthur staring at him and he purposefully made a gesture with his pocket that now concealed his gun. His meaning was clear, _Try anything and I'll shoot you, regardless of who sees or not._

Arthur swallowed and turned his gaze ahead again, just as they entered an elevator. The man holding him punched the lobby button and the elevator doors closed.

As they began to go down, his heart began to pound faster and faster. None of this made sense. This was barely his fourth job, he hardly even had a reputation yet, why on earth would anyone want to kidnap him instead of someone like Cobb or Eames? And it wasn't like either man really cared about him enough right now for someone to try to use him as a ransom against them.

In fact, Arthur could just imagine Eames shrugging his shoulders and saying, _Bad luck, that. Ah well, less trouble for us, eh?_

His mind was bursting with questions, but one look at his captors made him prevent any of them from reaching his tongue. Something told him that these men did not take well to any kind of inconvenience, even verbal ones.

As he started to shift his gaze back to the front, he suddenly caught a glimpse of his own face in the mirror surrounding the elevator. Large, frightened brown eyes peered back at him from a face framed with dark brown curls. _Lose the deer-in-the-headlights-look, Arthur,_ he told himself firmly and tried to make his expression a little less panic-stricken.

It wasn't working.

The elevator came to a stop and the man's grip tightened even more around his arm. The doors slid open and they pushed past the people waiting outside, not even caring if they trampled on a few feet.

Arthur tried to catch someone's eye as he was propelled across the lobby of the hotel, but no one was paying attention to him. All that mattered was their own neat, little world, they could care less about the young man practically being dragged through their midst.

They emerged from the hotel, the bright sun outside causing Arthur to blink disorientedly. By the time his vision had adjusted, they were suddenly in front of an open car door. The sight caused him to freeze up, now thoroughly frightened at the idea that he was being taken away from his….well, not friends…but co-workers, people who knew him at least.

The brown-haired man muttered a soft curse and shoved him forward again. "Get in."

Arthur contemplated making a run for it, but the blond man was gesturing with his pocket again and he knew he wouldn't make it very far before he was shot. _Just go with it, you'll figure something out. Hopefully._

Timidly he ducked inside the car, letting out a faint cry as someone grabbed him and pulled him all the way in. As he stumbled into the middle seat, his wide eyes met those of- "Gerasim?"

The man who was supposed to be monitoring their sleep smiled at him. "Arthur, so good of you to join us."

"But…But you…" His brow wrinkled. None of this made any _sense_.

"Shush." Gerasim gently shoved him back farther in his seat.

His attention was called back to the outside of the car where the brown-haired man was giving instructions to the blond. "Meet me at the rendevous in fifteen minutes. No dawdling."

"Of course not." The blond drawled as he slipped into the seat beside Arthur and closed the door behind him. Turning to the front, he spoke to another man sitting up in the driver's seat. "Drive."

Arthur felt the car start up and pull out into traffic and his stomach twisted into knots. "Wh-Where-?"

The blond turned to him and tutted. "You haven't even got your seatbelt on. I would "click it, or ticket" if I were you."

He frowned, now thoroughly confused, but his fingers fumbled with the seatbelt and clicked it into place.

"That's better," the man remarked cheerfully. "You may proceed, Gerasim."

Arthur started and turned to the other occupant to see what he meant. His eyes widened as he saw Gerasim readying a syringe of some sort. He backed up as far as he could, a rather futile endeavor as this only led him to bump into the blond man, who held him tightly. He squirmed in his hold as Gerasim grabbed his arm and pulled it over to him. "N-No, don't! Please…"

"Sssh," the blond whispered in his ear as the needle came closer. "Just think of it as going into your dream world. It'll all be over in a second. After all, we can't have you seeing where we're going."

Arthur whimpered as the needle pierced his skin and its' contents were drained into him. What had they give him? What if it killed him? But that didn't make sense. Why would they poison him after going through all this trouble to kidnap him?

His vision began to tunnel and his head suddenly felt very heavy. He swallowed thickly, trying to stay awake, but his surroundings were growing dimmer with each second that passed. As his head fell back, he thought he heard the blond say, "Sweet dreams."

The world went black.


	2. Chapter 2

*rubs eyes, then looks at screen again* Wow…like WOW. Thank you all _sososososo much_ for all of the feedback! You guys are awesome! =) I try to do my best to respond to reviewers, so if you leave a review, even an anonymous one, I will definitely try to answer them. So if you have any questions or tips, feel free to leave them and I will get back to you as soon as I can. =)

polka- Thanks for the feedback, glad you like the sudden action and whatnot. And we can't wear houses? Bummer…haha, just kidding. Thanks for catching that, I really appreciate the feedback.

tili- Thanks for the review, I'm glad you like it so far!

Disclaimer: My dreams of owning _Inception_ are still not coming true…

* * *

There is something strange about this man, not something easy to pinpoint either. Something is just…_off_ about him. Nevertheless Cobb plunges ahead with his plan, he can't abort this mission just because he has a funny feeling about their mark.

"I specialize in a very specific type of security, subconscious security."

The man blinks and Cobb can't tell if he believes him or not…or even if he has his attention.

Finally, he speaks, his thick Russian accent making his words difficult to understand. "Go on."

Not quite the response Cobb was looking for, but it wasn't an outright rejection of what he had to offer. He pressed on. "I believe someone is trying to break into your dreams to steal information that you may have hidden away in your subconscious. Important information, something that only you might be able to know."

The Russian picked up his glass and took a sip, swirling the liquid around in his mouth before swallowing it. "I know."

Cobb frowned. "You-You know?"

"Yes, Mr. Cobb, I know exactly what your line of work constitutes of. I know why you're here." His smile grew wider with every word that he spoke.

Cobb wasn't sure what to think of this new development. He was a few steps away from withdrawing quickly, coming out of this dream that suddenly no longer seemed under his control. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Are you not?" The Russian took another sip from his glass. "Tell me, do you remember how you got here? No? I thought not...I don't remember how I got here either. Do you know why?"

Cobb began to edge away from the table, his unease growing steadily with each moment.

The Russian noticed his movement and set his glass down slowly. "I know why…we're in a dream."

He was moving away from the table before he even realized that he'd stood up. He needed to find Eames and Arthur now. He didn't know how this man figured everything out, but that wasn't important at the moment. The mission was compromised and it was time to leave.

Behind him, the Russian started laughing.

Cobb picked up his pace, snagging a nearby blonde by the arm as he passed by.

She gasped. "What are-?"

"Come off it, Eames, he knows. I don't know how, but he knows everything. He knows this is a dream and he knows who I am. It's time to go."

Eames pouted, the shimmery face of the woman he'd disguised himself as fading away slowly until he resumed his natural form. "But I hardly got to use Chrissy. I was hoping to develop my skills a little bit more."

"Yes, well, that's not possible anymore." Cobb squinted, taking in the room in one glance. "Where's Arthur?"

Eames sighed and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "I haven't seen that stick in the mud since we arrived here. I don't know what he's doing, but it can't be good."

"He's supposed to be ensuring that the room that we were going to use to drop to the next level is ready, but he's been gone too long. That's not like him. Do you think he might have gotten out?"

"How should I know? I'm not his babysitter. Besides, what reason would he have to get out anyway?"

"I don't know." Cobb cursed and scanned the room again. "Where is he?"

"Yes, where_ is_ that little Point Man of yours? Misplaced him, have you?"

They both whirled around at the new voice.

The Russian walked towards them slowly, that same self-satisfied smile on his face. "Funny that you should only miss him now that your plan has gone awry."

"Have you done something to him?" Even as he asked it, Cobb knew it was a poor question. Getting killed was the worst that could happen to you in a dream and that only woke you up.

"How can I? This is _only_ a dream we're in, after all." The Russian suddenly reached behind him and jerked a gun out from underneath his jacket.

Eames reached for his own weapon while Cobb merely stood there, staring at the man in profound confusion. "What are you playing at?"

"Curious are we? Good. Don't worry, Mr. Cobb, we'll be in touch…shortly."And the Russian brought the gun up to his head and pulled the trigger.

* * *

Cobb's eyes opened with a snap. He jerked up from his chair, feeling groggy and disoriented. Just in front of him, the mark, the Russian, stood up from his own chair and ran to the door. By the time Cobb felt steady enough to stand, he had left the room.

Beside him, Eames tried to get his bearings, rubbing his eyes and mumbling something about the transition being too sudden for his tastes. But Arthur…

Cobb's eyes snapped to the chair Arthur previously occupied, only to find it empty and turned over, the wire that had attached him to the machine now lying loosely on the floor.

"Arthur?" He called out, hoping that the Point Man was in the bathroom or hiding somewhere nearby. But there was no response.

"He's really not here?" Eames's incredulous voice sounded behind him.

Cobb didn't respond, instead dashing to the door in pursuit of the Russian. But even as he tore down the hall, he knew was too late, he would never catch him in time. He took the stairs instead of the elevator, hoping that would give him the edge he needed in order to catch up. He reached the lobby in record time and tore through the grumpy crowd of tourists and hotel workers, spotting the Russian only few hundred yards ahead of him.

He hit the glass doors with all his weight, shoving them open and stumbling out into the daylight. For a split second, he couldn't see where the mark had gone. Every person on the street seemed determined to thwart his efforts.

But then he saw him. Just a couple yards away, closing the door of a car behind him and motioning to the driver to move on. He growled in utter frustration as the car drove past him. The Russian waved to him imperiously, mouthing, _Soon, Mr. Cobb, soon._

He looked around for a nearby cab, any sort of vehicle that he could acquire to follow in pursuit, but nothing was available and he knew by the time he reached his own car, the Russian would be lost in the busy traffic of Paris.

"Did you get him?" Eames suddenly appeared beside him, panting for air.

"No. He had someone waiting for him." Cobb ran frazzled hands through his hair. "We were set up. They _planned_ this. But _why_?"

"Beats me." Eames shrugged. "I thought we were just doing another fairly simple extraction of information for rival black markets."

"So did I. Why would they bother to plan such an elaborate ruse? And why take Arthur?"

"Again, you've got me." The Forger laid a hand on his chest. "Everyone knows that I am much more valuable than that whelp…they must not have done their research very well."

Cobb scowled at him. "Now is not the time to take cheap shots at Arthur. I know he's not as adept at his job, but that's only because he's still learning…which is precisely why it doesn't make sense for someone to kidnap him."

"Maybe it has nothing to do with us. Who knows what Stone-Face is hiding? We all have our demons, his just might be a little bit bigger than we imagined." Eames stretched carelessly, still trying to rid himself of the after-effects of their dream world.

"I don't think so. The Russian told me we'd be in contact with him soon. That makes me think that whatever they want with Arthur, it doesn't just have to do with him, but with all of us."

Eames stared at him for a moment and then scanned the street. His face lit up when he spotted the sign of a nearby pub. "Well, either way, we can't do anything about it now. How about a drink?"

Cobb shot him an incredulous look. "You can't be serious. Arthur's been _kidnapped_. I know he annoys you, but don't you think this is pushing it a little too far?"

Eames chuckled and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not heartless. Of course I want to help the kid…though I must say options of exciting things we could do without him are popping up into my mind. But we can't do anything about his situation until they contact us. I mean, we can't very well walk into a police station and say, "Hi there, we're here to report a kidnapping. Yes officer, our coworker was kidnapped while we were stealing information from another man's mind. Illegal, you say? Well, I suppose so, but that's not important right now. See our coworker…we're cracked, you say? Why are you pulling out your handcuffs? Arresting us? For reporting a kidnapping? Oh…I see…" It simply isn't going to work, mate. We're just going to have to wait and see what comes up."

Cobb wasn't amused, but he saw the logic of Eames's words. A long sigh escaped him. "Yes, I suppose you're right. But we have to get him back."

"We will, we will. But first, a drink!" Eames grabbed him by the arm and directed him over to the bar.

Cobb didn't bother resisting him.

* * *

Annnd that's all folks! Thanks for reading, I'm off to go see the movie again! =D


	3. Chapter 3

My poor dear readers! I feel so badly for leaving you all in the lurch like that – it was not intentional, I promise. But I have been hit with an extremely busy semester of school and I'm afraid that due to that, I have been woefully behind in writing. Also, due to the busyness, I'm afraid I no longer have time to respond to individual reviews. But please know that I do genuinely love each and every review, your thoughtful comments are such an encouragement to me, thank you all so much!

Also, greenjelly16 pointed out something that I should have picked up on, but didn't until I saw Inception a second time. Cobb doesn't start using his skills as a thief until after Mal dies…which throws my whole "he was a thief when Arthur first started" idea out the window….So this story is officially an AU. Hopefully you all don't mind that too much, but I do apologize for not researching more. =)

Okay, so I still don't own _Inception_ and here's the next part of _Point Man_.

* * *

Arthur woke up slowly, feeling as if his mouth were stuffed with cotton. His eyes fluttered open, the swirl of colors that greeted him anything but coherent. He closed them again and swallowed thickly. Maybe he'd overdosed on the sedation they used for the dream world or something. He'd certainly never felt this way waking up from a dream before.

He let out a soft moan, bringing his hands to his face. He was met with resistance halfway there though; something pulled on his wrists and prevented them from moving any further. He cracked his eyes open again, now thoroughly annoyed at his groggy state. He hated feeling drugged, the lack of control that he had over himself. He was a man of precision and schedule; he couldn't cope with this sluggishness that he'd suddenly acquired.

He squinted up at his hands, frowning as his questioning gaze fell on the metal cuffs encircling his wrists.

Now he _really_ wished he was more coherent.

Nervous and confused, he took stock of the rest of his surroundings. He was lying on a couch with his arms draped over the edge, handcuffed to a pole of some sort. A window somewhere behind the couch let in a dim light by which he could make out the rest of the room. A refrigerator, of all things, stood in the corner, looking a bit worse for wear. A few cabinets lined the wall beside it. A table stood a few feet in front of it, three chairs around it. To the right was a door and directly in front of Arthur was a coffee table.

The fog slowly started to lift from his mind, helped in part by the fearful knowledge that he had absolutely no idea where he was. He twisted around, trying to sit up without dislocating his arms. This proved to be much more difficult than he thought, as the handcuffs bit deeply into his wrists. But after several uncomfortable turns and contortions, he finally managed to sit up and face the side of the couch. Now that his arms were no longer stretched behind him but right in front of him, he examined the cuffs closely to see if he could detect any weak spots in them. Even as he tugged on them though, he could tell it was a fruitless endeavor.

A click sounded from the left side of him and he froze, recognizing the sound of a door opening.

He turned slightly to the side so he could at least look at whoever was coming into the room.

A blond man entered the area and pulled up short at the sight of him. Suddenly Arthur remembered everything that had taken place before he woke up here. The kidnapping, the confusion, the drugging. He clenched his fists and tightened his jaw defiantly but waited for the man to make the first move.

"Well, would you look at that? You must have built up some sort of immunity to sedation. I fully expected you to be under for at least another half hour. But no, you've gone ahead and given yourself bloody wrists trying to escape."

Arthur glanced down at his wrists and was startled to see that the man was right. Blood collected around the cool metal cuffs, a few drops trailing down his arms. He bit his lip.

"Nasty business."

He jumped as the blond man's voice sounded right by his ear. Turning quickly, he cringed away from the man's outstretched hands and hissed, "Don't touch me."

"Nervous little fellow, aren't you?" He smiled but backed off. Raising his hands in a non-threatening manner, he added, "I was just trying to see how bad the damage was. Wouldn't want you accidentally offing yourself before we were done with you."

Arthur stiffened. "I would never "accidentally off" myself. I know what I am doing."

"If you say so." He shrugged and walked over to the cabinets. Opening one of them, he took down a bottle, a roll of bandages, and some cotton swabs. "But injuring yourself is really not going to help you no matter which way you argue it."

Arthur twisted around a little more so he could face his enemy more directly. His eyes narrowed as the man approached him again, this time bringing the medical supplies with him. So now he was going to patch him up? _I don't think so._

The blond sat down on the coffee table, putting his supplies beside him, and stuffed a hand into one of his coat pockets, looking for something. Arthur tensed and waited uncertainly to see what he would do. Much to his surprise, he removed a small key – the key to his handcuffs.

The man stood again and reached for his arms.

Arthur moved away from him as much as he possibly could.

The blond stopped, shooting him an exasperated look. "Don't go out of your way to be difficult. Hold still and let me see to your wrists."

He thought about resisting further, but then realized it would be a rather futile endeavor. Besides, maybe when the man unlocked his handcuffs, he would have a chance to attack and try to escape. A slim chance, granted, but it was better than nothing.

"That's better," the man commented as he took hold of one of his wrists and removed the offending handcuff from it.

Arthur waited expectantly, muscles coiled in preparation to launch an assault as soon as he was free. But his plans were foiled the next instant as the man began to go ahead and carefully tend and bandage his wrist without ever releasing his other hand.

The man glanced up for a moment and smirked at his frustration. "I'm not that stupid, kid. I've been in this business longer than you've been around, I wager. I'm not about to make a rookie mistake like that."

Arthur hissed, both in disappointment and at the sudden pain that the ointment caused to his wrist. "Why am I here? Who are you?"

"What? Are you not enjoying our hospitality?"

He glared.

"You've got no sense of humor whatsoever," the man muttered as he finished tying off the bandage on his wrist. He carefully cuffed it again, then unlocked the other wrist and began to work on it. "My name is Iosif. As for why you're here…well, I can't tell you that. You'll just have to wait and see what surprises lie in store...and in your line of work, I suppose you're used to that."

"We try to avoid as many surprises as we can," Arthur snapped, now thoroughly put out.

"That's no fun. You should try to lighten up a bit, makes any sort of work much more enjoyable." Iosif finished wrapping his other wrist and firmly replaced the handcuff.

The point man remained silent. Somehow that response always seemed to work…unless you were Eames.

Fortunately for him, Iosif wasn't Eames and he did not try to get a rise out of him. He merely picked up all of his supplies and went back over to the cabinet to put them away. Just as he reached up to one of the cabinets, the door to the room swung open again.

Arthur zeroed in on the second man coming in and nearly gasped as he recognized him as Pyotr Smirnov, the man they were supposed to be extracting information from. His eyes darted to Iosif and then back to Pyotr, his confusion growing more with each passing minute.

The mark looked surprised that he was awake, but his surprise soon gave way to smug superiority. He closed the door behind him and leisurely strolled forward. "Good afternoon, Arthur."

"You two work together?" The point man shot back, not even bothering to be polite.

"An astute deduction." The condescension in his voice was almost palpable. He came over to the couch and shoved Arthur's legs off of it so that he could sit down. He smiled as he watched the young man try to regain a comfortable position where he could still see what was going on around him.

Arthur studied the man carefully for a moment, his mind flipping through the possibilities of why these two men would be working together. As he mentally discounted the implausible ideas, he started to form an unsettling theory. "You cooked up this extraction job to distract Eames and Cobb so that you could take me?"

Pyotr's eyebrows rose, a brief look of admiration crossing his face as he responded, "You're smarter than I gave you credit for. Perhaps your being Cobb's point man isn't such an absurd idea after all."

_That's encouraging_, Arthur thought sarcastically. But despite his accuracy in unfolding the elaborate ruse his captors used, one point continued to nag at him. "I don't understand. I'm nobody, why did you take me?"

"Oh, we're fully aware of your insignificance in the grand scheme of things. But every pawn has its own miniscule part to play." Pyotr casually examined his fingernails while Iosif let out a degrading bark of laughter.

_Don't get defensive_, Arthur coolly reminded himself, though his pride smarted horribly. _The only way to figure what is going on is to remain level-headed._ "And what part am I playing, exactly?"

"I suppose I could describe all of my plans in detail to you…but I don't like to rip off of cliché hollywood storylines. I prefer to keep my cards close, helps keep the risk down, you know?" Pytor edged closer to him and grabbed the collar of his shirt. Twisting the fabric ever so slightly while leaning forward, he whispered, "I've always found that the pieces in my game work better if they simply rely on my direction and refrain from asking questions. Uncooperative pieces just tend to get taken off the board completely."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Is that a threat?"

"I'll let you decide." Pytor let go of his collar and stood up. "I suggest that you rest for now, little pawn, and don't trouble yourself with matters that do not directly concern you. Iosif!"

"Yes?" The other man snapped to attention.

"Time to go."

Arthur watched them leave the room, anger and frustration welling up within him. He gave another futile tug at the handcuffs, wincing as his wrists smarted. But he refused to give up and to let his emotions rule him. He was a point man, his forte was research – now he just had to use his skills to find a way out of this mess. Sooner or later a flaw would show up in the Russian's invisible game of chess and he would take full advantage of it.

_I am not going to be your pawn._


	4. Chapter 4

Hello folks! Once again, I must apologize for the delay on getting this chapter out. My life has been consumed by that pervading beast known as Latin. Ugh…learning languages, especially dead ones, is not my forte. Ah well. Thank you all for your patience and support, I really appreciate it!

Disclaimer: I don't own _Inception_.

* * *

_Tap…Tap…Tap…_

Eames rubbed his tired eyes in frustration as he listened to Cobb persistently tapping a table where his cell phone lay. It had been a full day since Arthur disappeared and there was absolutely no word from his captor. If it had been anyone else, Eames might have guessed that the kid had run off, but Arthur would never do that. He respected Cobb far too much to do anything remotely unprofessional like run away.

_Tap…Tap…Tap…_

Eames's jaw clenched. "I swear, Cobb, if you keep doing that I'm going to chop your fingers off."

Cobb swallowed, only now realizing how annoying he was being. He retracted his fingers from the table. "Sorry."

Eames grunted and a few precious moments of silence followed…until Cobb's leg started to go up and down nervously. The Forger hissed, "That threat applies to any other unnecessarily moving body parts as well."

The other man stood up, running his hands through his hair that looked like it hadn't been combed…probably hadn't. "I'm sorry, I can't help it. I don't understand why they're not contacting us."

"It doesn't make sense to me either, but driving the other people around you crazy isn't really a good idea either." Eames stretched out his arms overhead, suppressing a yawn. Neither of them had gotten much sleep last night. He was surprised at how much Arthur's abduction bothered him. He had never considered him a friend, though it _was_ fun to pick on him. But now he could honestly say that he did like the kid and found himself more and more concerned about just what those Russians were doing to him. He stood up impatiently. "Cobb, we're going to drive ourselves mad if we stay cooped up like this. I'm hungry, let's get something to eat."

Cobb paced back and forth a few times, as if he couldn't decide whether leaving the hotel they were in was a good idea or not. But he soon stopped and scooped up his cell phone. "Alright. I suppose we can answer our phones just as easily in a restaurant as we can here."

"That's the spirit." Eames managed a tight smile and they both headed out the door.

They didn't go far from the hotel, for there was a small, outdoor café located right down the street. They took a table outside and ordered their drinks, before settling down to scan the menu.

Now that they were seated, Eames suddenly felt his appetite disappear. The gnawing concern for Arthur zapped any enthusiasm he might have had for food. _That kid manages to kill my fun even when he's not present_.

Looking across the table, he could see that Cobb had the same problem. He skimmed over the menu a few times, but didn't appear to be reading any of it, for his eyes kept darting to his cell phone.

That reminded Eames of something he had been meaning to ask. "Say, have you called Mal and let her know what's going on?"

Cobb's eyes shifted nervously to the street. "No, I wanted to make sure I didn't miss any calls from the Russians."

"You mean you didn't want to get chewed out by Mal for not having done your research well enough to make sure you weren't endangering your teammates."

The extractor's lips flattened in a thin, annoyed line. His silence, however, proved that Eames was right.

Before either man could speak again, the waitress appeared at their table, bearing a plate of bruschetta. She set it down between them. "Here you are, sirs, enjoy."

Eames exchanged a puzzled glance with his friend, before saying, "Uh, miss, we didn't order this."

She smiled and jerked her thumb back over her shoulder. "There was a man at the bar who ordered it for you all, said you were old friends."

"Indeed, we are, my dear." The thick Russian voice that sounded behind her made the other two men freeze.

"Enjoy, gentlemen," the waitress smiled and trotted off to her next table.

Cobb and Eames glared at Pyotr as he snagged a chair from a table nearby and pulled it up to theirs. Sitting down quite calmly, he grabbed one of the bruschetta appetizers and took a bite out of it. Chewing it thoroughly before swallowing, he said, "Forgive me, I'm being rude, you may help yourselves to this as well. It's quite good."

"Where's Arthur?" Cobb spat, trying very hard to keep his tone even so as not to attract the attention of the people surrounding them.

"Really? Not even a bite first, just straight to business?" The man sucked some of the sauce from the bruschetta off of his finger, all the while keeping an infuriating smile on his face.

Eames slammed a clenched fist on the table, rattling their glasses. "Stop stalling. Where is he?"

"You too, eh?"

Cobb leaned forward, steepling his fingers in front of him and letting out a long, slow breath. Eames knew from experience that he only did that when he was dangerously angry. The extractor lowered his voice even further, "Stop toying with us. For all we know, you might have killed Arthur already…or you may not even have him. How can we even know that you have him unless you give us proof?"

Pyotr's grin widened. "You can't."

Eames's jaw clenched. "Are you actually _trying_ to discredit yourself?"

"No, Mr. Eames, I am not. But no matter what I say, you're never going to believe that Arthur is alive and well unless you either see him or hear from him…neither of which I am willing to do."

"Why not?" Cobb was a few steps away from throwing the man across the restaurant, regardless of whether it got him arrested or not.

Pyotr grabbed another bruschetta piece and took a bite out of it. He chewed with maddening slowness, watching them with sparkling eyes. After he swallowed, he said, "Because I've discovered that letting people talk to their loved ones always compromises what I want to accomplish. Somehow someone always ends up tracking the phonecall or seeing something in the photo that gives away the location of the hideout or, the hostage manages to communicate something important one way or another. I prefer to ensure my success in whatever way I can."

"I've had enough of this." Eames's hand darted across the table and seized the Russian's wrist. Twisting it roughly, he growled, "Tell me where he is or I'll break your arm."

His threat didn't exactly have the result he wanted. It only made the Russian laugh. "Really, Mr. Eames, resorting to physical harm already? I'm surprised…I thought you didn't like the little Point Man."

"Let him go, Eames," Cobb said in a measured tone. "That is not going to help our situation."

"A wise choice," Pyotr commented as the Forger reluctantly released his wrist.

"So what _do_ you want?" Cobb desperately tried to keep his anger from showing and to communicate as clearly as possible. Something told him that if he gave this man even the slightest amount of ambiguity, he'd take it and run, never letting them know what he wanted.

"I want you to build a dreamworld for me, Mr. Cobb. Anything you like, make it as detailed and as realistic as you would for a regular extraction job."

"You mean all you wanted us to do was another extraction?" Eames couldn't keep the disgust from showing in his face. "You could have just hired us. We do this for a living, you know."

Pyotr smiled again. "I do know…and I never said I wanted you to perform another extraction. Just create a world."

"What for?" Cobb frowned.

The Russian finished off his second piece of bruschetta before he saw fit to answer. "That's all you need to know for now."

Anger rushed through the Extractor, hot and volatile. This man wasn't being clear and that could very well endanger lives when entering a dreamworld. "I need specifics, Mr. Smirnov, I can't do my job without them. You have to let me know what I am getting into, or I will not cooperate with you."

"You don't need specifics to build a dreamworld. However, should you need…_inspiration_…I can provide that for you." Pyotr reached into his coat pocket and pulled something out. Resting his elbow on the table, he stretched his hand out in front of them so that they could see what he held.

They both swallowed uneasily.

A small red die rested in the palm of his hand.

"Do you know what this is, gentlemen?"

"That's Arthur's totem." Cobb's mouth suddenly felt very dry.

"Maybe, maybe not. You never know…I may have just picked one up at a nearby gift shop. But if it _is_ Arthur's, do you know what I could do with this?" He rolled the die between his fingers. "Totems are so very important for a dreamer, aren't they? That's why no one else is supposed to touch them, because they could easily be manipulated in a dream. Right here in my hand, I have the one thing I could use to destroy Arthur's mind…I could make him doubt which world is real and which is not. Could lead to some tragedy, don't you think? Especially for someone so young…so easily manipulated." Pyotr grinned at their dumbstruck expressions and tossed the die up into the air. Catching it in his hand again, he swiftly pocketed it. "But of course, that all depends on whether you actually believe that it _is_ Arthur's. Do you really want to take that chance?"

"You monster, you-" Eames let loose the string of colorful swear words that came to mind as he tried to restrain himself from pounding the smug Russian's face into the ground.

Cobb remained silent, only the icy look in his sharp eyes gave away the repulsion and fear he felt.

Pyotr, on the other hand, stood up from the table. Taking out his wallet, he lay a few bills on the table. "For the bruschetta. Take the next few days to dream up a world for me, Cobb. Or don't, if you so desire…just remember the potential stakes in this game of ours. I'll be in touch with you again."

As soon as he left the enclosed restaurant space and began to walk down the curb, Cobb stood up. "We should follow him."

Eames shook his head as he threw some money on the table for their drinks. "No."

"No? Why not?"

"Think about it, Dom. This man has been careful to leave no clues for us to follow, he won't even confirm that he _has_ Arthur, do you really think we'd be able to just tail him to his hideout? Take my word for it, he'll probably stay away from the place for a day or two just to throw us off. Although, he's confused us so much already that he could probably lead us straight to the hideout and we'd be questioning whether it was the place or not. It's no use."

"I suppose you're right."

Eames chuckled derisively. "Yeah, but this time I wish I weren't…what do we do now?"

Cobb stared down at the remaining pieces of bruschetta, picturing the red die that had been held so casually by the Russian. That small game piece had the potential to destroy Arthur's mind. He sighed. "We need to start dreaming."


	5. Chapter 5

I am terribly sorry for the _long long long_ delay in getting this out to you. School was just way too overwhelming this past semester. But I do hope you'll forgive me and accept this next chapter as a small apology. =) Thank you all so much for your feedback, I really appreciate it. One last thing, there is some suspension of disbelief required here…and I think you'll see what I'm talking about…ah well, we're dealing with dreams here, can't I have a few impossible ones too? =)

Enjoy!

* * *

By Arthur's estimate, he had been in captivity for three days. The first day, he'd been drugged so heavily that the only recollection he had was that of talking to Iosif and Pyotr…who had left him alone for the rest of the day. But as the second day rolled around, Arthur began to analyze how many people were involved in this elaborate plot of Pyotr's, where they were currently holding him, and what sort of patterns they kept while guarding him.

He had come to several conclusions. There were at least five people involved –Pyotr, Iosif, Gerasim, the other man who had helped Iosif in the hotel, and the driver of the car they'd forced Arthur into. But, erring on the side of caution, Arthur mentally added two to three more people to his assessment. After all, Pyotr didn't seem to be the type of person who let his enemy see what he had planned – including how many helpers he had.

He was also fairly certain that he was being held in an apartment, for occasionally he could hear tenants moving around both on the floor above him and in the hallway. But he didn't think screaming for help would do any good. For one thing, Iosif or one of the others would be swift to shut him up. For another, the apartment complex they were in was loud anyway – people screamed all the time…and no one even cared. So they were probably in a rough neighborhood, which would make escape more difficult.

But that was of no consequence. Giving up was not an option.

Pyotr had not been in the apartment for the last few days, nor had the driver – for Arthur had never heard his voice and over the past three days he had not heard an unfamiliar voice. Only Iosif, Gerasim, and the other man from the hotel were regular occupants of the apartment.

Speaking of Gerasim, Arthur heard him fumbling with the lock on the door, bringing him lunch. Surprisingly, his captors took good care of him – he had even received a decent sized breakfast this morning.

The young man straightened, the first part of his escape relied heavily on what sort of silverware – if any – his captors gave him. If they followed this morning's pattern, it would plastic._ Oh please let it be plastic._

Strange to think that his freedom depended on silverware. He would never take it for granted again.

Gerasim finally opened the door and came in with a tray holding a plate of pasta, a water glass, and…yes! A plastic fork.

Arthur kept his expression strictly neutral as he watched the man approach and set the tray on the table. He brought the keys to the handcuffs out next and uncuffed Arthur's left hand….just as he did this morning. It made eating difficult – for he was right-handed – but he had little choice in the matter.

Gerasim put the tray of food into his lap without comment before taking a seat next to him. Arthur awkwardly picked up his fork in his left hand, feeling the man's eyes on him the entire time. Carefully, he stabbed a couple of pieces of pasta and shoved them into his mouth, chewing carefully. Just to be cautious, he took a few more bites, before he pushed the fork hard into the plate, snapping a couple of the prongs off.

Gerasim sighed. "Now what did you go and do that for?"

Arthur scowled at him. "I'd like to see if _you'd_ treat silverware nicely if you were being held against your will."

"There are better ways of expressing your anger." Gerasim got up and walked over to the kitchen area, fishing around in the drawers for another fork.

Arthur quickly grabbed one of the prongs and slipped it underneath a ring on his right hand just as Gerasim turned back around with another plastic fork in hand. The young man picked up the other shards and flicked them across the room in disgust.

Gerasim tossed the new fork onto his plate, smirking as a bit of marinara splattered onto Arthur's shirt.

His only response was to pick up the fork and continue eating as if nothing had happened. The Russian continued to watch, equally nonchalant, until the meal was finished. Then the plate was taken away, the handcuff was put on his left wrist again, and Gerasim left the room.

Arthur waited for a few minutes, listening to the noises in both the apartment he was in and the ones nearby. Nothing sounded aside from the noise of the tv in the next room and some loud dance music playing upstairs.

Time to get to work.

Twisting his wrists a bit, he managed to slip the tiny prong out from underneath his ring and into his mouth. He slipped the prong in between his teeth and huddled over the locking mechanism of the handcuffs. As he began to painstakingly pick at the lock, he couldn't help but think, _Thank goodness Eames isn't here or I would never hear the end of this._

The prong kept slipping in his teeth and his jaw began to ache from clenching around such a tiny object. But he kept going, knowing he didn't have much time before the next guard on duty would come to check on him.

He had one shot at this; he had to make it work.

When the lock actually clicked open, Arthur just sat there for a moment in utter disbelief. It…worked?

_Yes it worked, now get going, you idiot!_ An inner voice that sounded suspiciously like Eames hissed at him.

He quickly slipped his wrists out of the handcuffs, grunting as the metal tore at his chafed skin. Standing up slowly – leery of the side effects of the drugs that he had been given - he scanned the room for anything that he could use as a weapon. He noted, with some disappointment that there wasn't even anything similar to a vase that he could use to break over someone's head.

Well…he'd have to do as well as he could with what little training he had.

Footsteps sounded outside and Arthur quickly darted towards the door, pressing himself up against one of the sides. His breath caught as he saw the doorknob begin to move and he tensed, ready to pounce.

Iosif barely made it past the threshold before Arthur chopped his forearm onto his neck, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. He hurriedly checked to make sure he was unconscious before slipping out into the next room.

Fortunately for him, the next room was a den of sorts and the tv was playing loudly enough that neither Gerasim nor the man with him heard Arthur attack Iosif. Both of the men sat on the couch, oblivious to the young captive behind them.

Arthur's eyes darted around the area as he checked to make sure no one else was in the room. There was another door on the other side of the room, probably leading to another bedroom, but it was shut tight. Just beyond the couch was the front door…

Arthur contemplated knocking both men out before he tried to make his escape, but he wasn't sure if he could chance being able to take them out before an alarm sounded.

He slid one foot forward, edging along the wall.

Gerasim's head turned.

Their eyes met.

The Russian froze just long enough for Arthur to dart to the door and unlock the deadbolt.

"H-Hey! Stop!"

Right. Did he honestly think Arthur was going to listen to that?

He slipped out into a dim hallway, heavy with smoke and ran to the left, hoping that an emergency fire escape would make itself available to him. Behind him, he could hear Gerasim and the other man giving chase.

The hall turned to the right up ahead and Arthur sped around the corner. He nearly gasped in relief when he saw the sign for a stairwell directly in front of him. He threw open the door to the stairwell and jumped over the first set of stairs, using the railing to steady himself as his feet hit the landing. He was halfway down the second flight when the door slammed open above, Gerasim's curses echoing in the small space.

Arthur was pleasantly surprised when he saw the exit at the bottom of the second flight of stairs, relieved that he wouldn't have to run down any more steps. He hit the door at a dead run, flinging it open so hard that it slammed against the wall outside. He emerged into an alley strewn with garbage, the air heavy with smog. He could see the end of the alley to his left and he darted towards it.

A tall dark shape stepped into his path and he barely had time to skid to a halt. It was the other Russian from the hotel. He could hear Gerasim and his companion coming hard behind him.

_No! I am so close!_ He dropped to the ground, kicking out and sweeping the man's feet out from under him. Then he was up again, just in time to deliver a punch to Gerasim's face. As Gerasim staggered back with a moan, his companion closed in the gap and grabbed Arthur around the waist.

Arthur twisted around in his grip and delivered a few well-placed punches to the man's neck and shoulders, slipping free when his grasp loosened. The man from the hotel came up behind him again and Arthur grabbed the collar of his shirt and threw him into Gerasim, who was attempting to tackle him. As both of them fell to the ground, he heard a deep laugh coming from the end of the alley.

Arthur spun around, hands clenched tightly into fists as he saw Pyotr emerge. His stomach clenched painfully when he saw the Russian held a gun.

Thinking quickly, Arthur grabbed the closest man to him, Gerasim's friend and wrapped one arm around his neck and gripped the top of his head tightly with his other hand. "Don't come any closer or I'll snap his neck."

Pyotr laughed again and leaned casually against the wall of the alley. "Very good, Arthur. Maybe you _are_ more deserving of being Cobb's point man than I thought you were."

"Drop your gun!" Arthur hissed, tightening his grip on his captive even more.

"I don't think so." Pyotr sighed.

Arthur flinched as the gun went off. But instead of pain, all he felt was hot blood running over his arm and he gasped when the man he was holding suddenly slumped in his arms, a hole in his head. Arthur dropped him in shock, eyes wide.

Pyotr grinned at him.

"Wh-Why would you do that?" He gasped.

The Russian clicked his tongue. "I'm surprised you haven't figured it out by now…being so accomplished in the dream world."

Arthur felt a cold chill run down his spine. "We're…we're dreaming?"

"Clever boy," Pyotr purred. "And now that we know what you are capable of…we shall take many more precautions to make sure something like this does not happen in the real world."

Bitter frustration and disappointment surged within Arthur. The cruel trick stung him as he ran forward with an angry cry, eager to strangle the life out of the Russian even if it would only wake him up. But the dream world shimmered around him and before he even reached his goal, Arthur felt a large piece of mortar hit him in the head –

And suddenly he was waking up, bound hand and foot, lying on an old rickety bed. His dark eyes narrowed furiously when he saw a PASIV device connected to his arm. All around him, Pytor's men were staring down at him with mocking smiles.

Pyotr himself was standing at the side of his bed, looking quite satisfied.

Arthur snarled and struggled against the ropes binding him. "You monster! Let me go!"

The Russian chuckled, patting him on the cheek patronizingly. "Dear Arthur, there's no chance of that now."

"You can't do this! I – umph!" Arthur writhed as Gerasim slipped a gag into his mouth and tightened it around the back of his head.

Pyotr grabbed his chin and forced him to look at him. A crooked grin twisted his features. "I believe you will find that I can…and I _will._"

* * *

Yeah, I have no idea if you can pick a lock with a fork prong either, but for the purposes of this story, we'll say we can. Thanks for reading! =)


	6. Chapter 6

"I am Kah Mun Rah, the great king of the great kings, and from the darkest depths of ancient history, I have come _BACK_ to _LIFE!_"

Okay, so I'm not, but I felt like the pharaoh from Night at the Museum 2 as I started writing this chapter. I am deeply sorry for making you all wait so long. For a while I lost my inspiration and then school came and took my writing time away. It took me awhile to get back into the swing of things, but I dabbled in some Avengers and Batman fanfiction and decided, "I'm going to finish Point Man and that's that!" Because really, there's nothing more terrible on fanfiction than when an author leaves you hanging and never updates again.

Thank you all so much for the encouragement and support, I greatly appreciate it! =D

* * *

Eames cursed as another building far off in the distance crumbled to pieces. He could feel the tremors of the fall from here. "Cobb, stop thinking about him."

"I can't," the extractor mumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he glowered at the buildings surrounding them.

"Well _try_ before you bring the whole landscape down on top of us. If your dreamworld keeps collapsing every time we enter it, we're going to lose Arthur not save him."

"Yes, thank you, Eames. Why don't you try designing a world when your concentration is shot to pieces and we'll see how you do." Cobb knew it wasn't fair to snap at his partner, but his nerves were so frayed at the moment he couldn't really help it.

The forger snorted. "Dom, you know I wouldn't be in this business if all we had to do was build worlds. That's boring. However, should you require my assistance, I can try to help. But I'm afraid that a forger is useless in this stage."

"I know…I know…I just don't know what he _wants_. How can I build him a world if he won't even give me minor details? The only information I have on that guy is what Arthur gave us and I'm pretty sure that info is all moot at this point. What does he want with his own world anyway?"

"Nothing good, I would imagine." Eames studied the landscape – built largely of tall, skyscraper buildings and gray sidewalks. Nothing welcomed the dreamer. It was cold, stiff. "Why don't you try to add a little more color? Give it some warmth and depth."

A ferris wheel popped out of nowhere in the middle of the street.

"That is _not_ what I meant."

"It was the first thing that came to mind," Cobb offered apologetically, but the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth belied his words. "But you're right. This whole place is too…stark."

The forger looked on as the architect squinted at the buildings, deep in thought. Slowly, but surely, the buildings began to change, shrink in size and take on different colors. A salty scent crept into the air and Eames turned to see the ocean not far off, complete with white-washed boardwalks. In a few short moments, Cobb had transformed the grey, unwelcoming city into a bright, laid-back beach town. He let out an appreciative whistle. "And that's why they call you the best in the business. Impressive, Cobb, this is just what we need."

"Good," the other man sighed and brought out a gun. "Then let's get out of here before I starting thinking of Arthur again and drown us in a raging ocean."

Two shots later and they were waking up in the warehouse that Cobb had found somewhere in the suburbs of Paris. Eames blinked and sat up, not sure if he was seeing things correctly. The next moment, he stood up, anger causing his hands to curl into fists. Beside him, he could see Cobb doing the same.

"What are you doing here?" He snarled.

Pyotr sat in one of their unoccupied chairs, a smug smile on his face. Behind him stood two of his henchmen, each with a gun in their hands. "I told you I would be in touch, Mr. Eames. I figured you both have had enough time to build a world for me and I've come to see what you have made."

"Where's Arthur?" Cobb asked with his one-track mind, though Eames couldn't blame him at this point. He was rather curious himself.

Pytor chuckled. "Come now, you know that I am a man who likes to play things close to the chest. Why don't we go with an easier question, is your dreamworld ready?"

Cobb and Eames exchanged glances, each wanting the other to respond to the question. Dom caved in first. "Yes, we just finished it."

"Good, that is all I needed to know." Pyotr turned to the men behind him. "Gentlemen, it appears we're ready. Please put a few more chairs around the PASIV device."

"You want to go in now?" The extractor's brow wrinkled in confusion. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but this certainly did not fall under his top ten scenarios.

"There is no better time, don't you think? And since you've been so good as to follow my instructions to the letter, I'll give you a small reward." The Russian snapped his fingers.

The door to the warehouse opened again and both men gasped as two more Russians came into the room, Arthur sandwiched in between them. The point man looked rather rumpled, his curly hair hanging in an unruly mess over his forehead. His chin was lightly covered in stubble and his clothes were wrinkled. Fortunately, he seemed mostly uninjured with only a few bandages wrapped around his wrists, which were cuffed in front of him. A large piece of duct tape covered his mouth, but could not completely obscure his annoyed expression.

"Arthur," Eames chirped. "It's good to see that captivity has not dampened your spirits. I think your glare can still curdle milk."

Arthur shifted his scowl to the forger, not appreciating his sense of humor.

Cobb stepped in before anyone else could say anything. "Are you alright?"

The point man's expression softened as he looked at his boss. He gave a short nod.

"See? No harm, no foul." Pyotr clapped a friendly hand on the extractor's back. "And now that we have both held up our end of the bargain, it is time to explore your world."

Cobb shifted out from under the man's touch. "And just what are we going to do down there? There is no mark. There is no extraction. What is the point of all of this?"

"Take us into the dream and show us around as you would to a person who has never experienced this before. Show us your details, where you plan to take the mark, what ideas you use to perform an extraction. I want to know it all."

Eames glanced at Arthur again. "And I suppose if we don't cooperate, you're going to rearrange our associate's skull?"

Pyotr laughed. "You are so crude, Mr. Eames. Arthur will be perfectly fine. In fact, he's going to go in with us."

"He is?" Cobb felt like he was walking on the ocean floor and the sands kept shifting beneath him every time Pyotr opened his mouth. A glance at Arthur confirmed that the point man had no idea that this was going to happen either. Something was terribly off about all of this, but Dom couldn't pinpoint what. The world he'd built was harmless enough. The Russian, despite kidnapping his right hand man, had not treated him badly and he hadn't necessarily been hostile – just laced his words with double meaning. It puzzled the extractor why he'd gone to such lengths and did not consider simply hiring them. There had to be another reason.

"I've had enough delaying, Mr. Cobb. I believe it is high time we go explore this new world you have created for me." At a sign from Pyotr, his men moved in and pushed Eames, Cobb, and Arthur into the chairs closest to the PASIV device. The Russian leader himself took a seat near the point man and another of his rabble took the empty chair next to Eames.

Cobb started to pass out IV lines to each of them, but again Pyotr shook his head. "No. I wish for you and Mr. Eames to enter first. I realize that you have not had much time to prepare your world, so I will give you a few minutes head start to fix any problems that you may encounter."

Another strange request. Dom couldn't make heads or tails of where this was going to lead. Arthur looked frightened, though he tried valiantly to conceal it. He couldn't read what Eames was thinking, but that came as no surprise. He was good at keeping his true thoughts to himself. Though it made him uneasy, Cobb attached the wires to himself and the forger.

"See you there." Pyotr smiled and depressed the button on the PASIV.

They went under.

* * *

And that's that! Next chapter will be longer, I promise. =) In the meantime, check out the Olympics! I know I'm super excited to see all of these athletes compete. =)


	7. Chapter 7

Okey dokey, folks! I'm back with more! =D Slight warning for this chapter, it's a little gory, but not over the top.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Inception_.

* * *

Arthur instantly knew something was wrong the second Cobb and Eames went under without him.

Pyotr turned to him with a grim smile. "Well now, I believe it is time for you to move."

His brow crinkled as Iosif yanked him up out of the chair and pulled him over to one of the warehouse support beams. Pyotr tossed him another pair of handcuffs, putting the key into the pocket of his jacket. Iosif attached these to the cuffs already on his wrists and looped the other end around the support beam before attaching it to the ones on his wrists again. This kept his hands anchored at waist level with a little bit of wiggle room. He was sufficiently hobbled.

And sufficiently tired of being handcuffed.

He grabbed hold of the chains attached to the support beam and pulled up, wrapping his legs around Iosif's neck in one smooth move. If he could just get his feet in the right position, he'd snap the man's neck.

Pyotr noted his movement with some impatience. "Arthur, unless you want me to tie you upside down, I suggest you let Iosif go."

The point man hesitated. His arms began to shake from the strain. The man he held captive was not making matters any easier as he squirmed and strained to get out from under his hold.

Pyotr pulled out a gun. "I can shoot you first if you'd like and then hang you upside down."

Arthur relaxed enough for Iosif to pull out from underneath him. He didn't have a chance to recover his footing before the man punched him in the stomach, causing him to sag against his bonds.

"Now, now, Iosif, let's not get carried away. I'm sure our little friend is just curious as to why he's not going under with us." The Russian stood up and walked over to the two of them.

Arthur scrambled to his feet, using the beam as a support to keep himself upright. Pyotr invaded his personal space, pressing a large hand against his chest and effectively trapping him against the beam. "Don't worry, little one. I'm saving you for a better purpose. After all, youth does have its advantages. I'm certain that once I'm done with your team, I can persuade you to join mine. Perhaps with the proper training, you might even make a halfway decent point man."

Arthur growled, trying to get away from the man's hand, but he was much stronger than he looked. The duct tape over his mouth was making it hard for him to breathe, but even so, he made some irritated grunts to show just how much he disapproved of this plan.

The Russian smirked. "How rude of me, you look like you wish to say something."

He ripped the duct tape off without any warning.

The point man sucked in air sharply, trying to keep from crying out. Fortunately, he was successful in that endeavor. "I will…_never_…work for you."

"Hmmm, that's what you think. But I believe it is possible." A small red die appeared in his hand and rolled between his fingers.

Arthur's eyes were riveted on the small game piece. Genuine fear spiked through his heart. How many times had Mal pounded into him how important it was not to let someone else touch his totem? He hadn't even realized that it was gone until now.

"I think we could perform a little brain surgery, plant a few seeds of doubt in that sharp mind of yours. Who's to say that you won't suddenly come to realize that we have your best interests in mind and Cobb and Eames have only been mistreating you?"

They couldn't really do that, could they? Arthur couldn't be sure. He wasn't experienced enough to know whether he could be manipulated so badly in his dreams. But it made sense – after all the Cobbs were adamant about not losing touch with reality. And now, he might be forced to.

Pyotr knew he had him well and truly trapped. "Be good for me."

Arthur snarled as the man moved away from him, but he couldn't quite mask the fear in his eyes. However, as the man turned his back to him, Arthur curled his fingers around the key that he'd managed to slip out from Pyotr's pocket while he was too busy threatening him.

The Russian took his seat again and one of his other men took the seat that the point man had previously occupied. A third man took another empty chair. Iosif stood next to the PASIV to monitor them. The last henchman took up an easy position against the wall behind Arthur where he could keep an eye on him and the rest of the proceedings.

The point man frowned at the three men who were now attaching themselves to the dream device. Three men, each of them able to work the PASIV with ease. They knew more about this dream business than they let on. They weren't just touring the world that Dom had made, they already knew how extraction worked.

And then it hit him.

They were an extraction team.

Iosif depressed the button and all three men closed their eyes.

Arthur's heart raced, but he tried to keep his fingers steady as he worked on getting the handcuffs off. It was painstakingly slow business, but he couldn't afford to go any faster or he would attract the attention of Iosif and the other guard. As he finally managed to get the key into the hole of the handcuffs that held his wrists captive, his mind raced through reasons why an extraction team would want to go through this charade with Cobb. Nothing good met his musings.

A soft _click_ sounded. He'd managed to get the first set of handcuffs loose. He kept them around his wrists and glanced at Iosif to see if he'd noticed. The man was too busy cleaning his gun, trying to look intimidating. Arthur couldn't be sure about the other guard, since he couldn't see him, but there was no sound of movement. He moved on to the next set of cuffs.

_Wait a minute. Pyotr told Dom and Eames that I was going under with them. _The thought made him look over at the dreamers again. _Shoot! One of them is a forger. They're using me for something down there….getting them to trust the wrong Arthur. I've got to get down there_.

The second pair of handcuffs clicked open.

He waited again. Both men still did not consider him a threat. He would have to act quickly though, before they had a chance to bring their guns to bear.

He slipped the first pair of cuffs off with only a soft _clank_ to show for it. Then he disentangled the other so he could grip one pair of cuffs in each hand.

Iosif looked up.

Arthur threw the first pair of handcuffs at his face and then whirled around the support beam to throw the second pair at the other man. The guard cried out as the cuffs caught him in the face. Arthur was on him in a second, jerking his gun away from him, and cracking him over the head with the butt of the weapon. The man dropped just as a gunshot echoed through the room.

The point man whirled, facing Iosif, who was getting ready to shoot again. He squeezed the trigger on his own gun, catching the Russian right in the chest.

The man stumbled, red blossoming on his shirt, before he collapsed, almost landing on top of Eames.

Arthur kept the gun trained on him for a moment or two until it became clear that the Russian was no longer a threat. For a moment, he wondered if he should shoot the other man too, but dismissed the idea. He didn't want to kill unnecessarily. Instead he bent over to retrieve the handcuffs.

His vision suddenly swam before his eyes and he almost fell flat on his face, but managed to catch himself with one hand just in time. Pain that he did not register before suddenly blossomed in his lower abdomen. He sat down on the floor to examine himself.

A bullet hole graced the fabric on the lower right hand corner of his shirt. He knew that a gun had gone off during the struggle, but he thought his gun had accidentally discharged. Clearly that was not the case.

Arthur set the gun down on the floor and gingerly pressed a hand to his wound. Just the feeling of blood rushing out around his fingertips made him feel a bit queasy.

There was no time to address it at the moment though. He ruthlessly shoved aside the pain and grabbed the handcuffs before dragging the other guard to the post where he'd been secured. By the time he actually got the man to the pole, he thought he was going to pass out. But somehow, he managed to cuff the man to the beam.

He rested there a moment, panting and definitely feeling much weaker than he had precious few minutes ago. The man he'd cuffed had on a vest which Arthur quickly divested him of and began to bunch up to make a compress of sorts. Next, he took the man's tie and wrapped it around his waist, securing the pad on top of his wound. It took nearly all his strength to tighten it, a cry escaping him as pain flared through him again.

"Come on, Arthur, you gotta get up. They need you." It was enough motivation to get him moving again, slowly crawling across the floor until he could reach the PASIV device.

His hands trembled so much when he picked up the wire that he doubted he would be able to get it into his arm. "Come on…come _on_…"

The IV pinched, but it stayed in. A press of the button and he felt the fluid hit his bloodstream. With deceptive gentleness, it carried him away from the world where he slowly bled to death.

* * *

Thanks for reading! =D


	8. Chapter 8

Oh heavens...I apologize for my tardiness. Life and school have a way of distracting me, but I am going to finish this story. Thank you for your patience and for all of your lovely reviews! =D

Enjoy!

* * *

Cobb and Eames walked around the city by the sea they had built, adding a few more details here and there as they waited for the Russians to appear. Cobb was a little uneasy that they were using him as the dreamer, but he kept the world as simple as possible - nothing too flashy, no fancy paradoxes or staircases. Just a simple maze.

Eames kicked at a loose piece of gravel on the boardwalk, hands shoved deep into his pockets. "I don't understand what they're playing at."

"Neither do I," sighed Dom. His eyes squinted at the distant shoreline. "It has something to do with this place - there's a reason they wanted us to build this world."

"But why no details? Why no specific requirements for this world? I mean, we made this place from scratch, why didn't they want something they could prescribe?"

A soft chuckle sounded behind them and they turned to see Pyotr, his men, and Arthur standing behind them. "You are so inquisitive, Mr. Eames. Do not trouble yourself, we only want a brief tour of the dream world. Just a few questions about how it works and then we'll be gone. You can take your little point man and go."

The forger's eyes unwillingly drifted to Arthur. "You could have just made an appointment with us. There was no need for this elaborate charade and kidnapping."

"I know you all better than you think," Pyotr chuckled. "You don't just ask an extractor about dream sharing. But come, we are wasting time. Dom, show me how you typically conduct these extractions. I'll even let Eames keep an eye on Arthur."

He shoved the point man in Eames's direction and the forger caught him as he stumbled. "Are you alright there, darling?"

"I'm fine," grunted Arthur, quickly disentangling himself from his co-worker and brushing himself off.

"Sure you are," the Brit murmured skeptically.

Pyotr stepped over to Dom and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "See? Perfectly alright. Now, tell me how you get started in this dream world of yours."

Dom shrugged out of his grip and started walking down the street. The rest of the group trailed along behind him. "You have to have at least a dreamer and an architect - you build a world, bring the subject into the world and they fill it with their subconscious..."

As Cobb spilled the explanation that Eames had heard a hundred times, he tuned it out and turned his attention to Arthur. "They haven't harmed you, have they?"

A muscle in Arthur's jaw jumped, his dark eyes darting up to the other man's face. "No, they haven't harmed me, just kept me locked up."

The words came rather hesitantly, as if the boy were uncertain of what to say. The slight pauses in his voice filled Eames with concern. Arthur never liked to come across as timid or uncertain and his current manner screamed that something was wrong with him. But before he could say anything else, the other Russian shouldered his way between the two of them. "That's enough chit-chat."

Eames fell silent, but he couldn't quite keep his unease at bay.

* * *

Several blocks away, the real Arthur found himself walking out of a small office building. Phantom pain from the real world skittered across his body, though a quick glance down assured him that his bullet wound had disappeared. But the air felt thick, hard to breathe, and his movements were slower than they typically were in the dream world.

He didn't have much time.

He took off at a jog down the street, keep his eyes peeled for his friends and the Russians. The projections were already looking at him strangely - probably wondering why there were two men in this world who looked exactly alike.

If projections started attacking him now, he would have no chance to warn Cobb and Eames. The thought made him shove past the projections with greater urgency. The faster he moved, the more he could feel the tightness around his lungs strengthen its grip.

A strange sort of humming sounded in his ears. While he had often been injured in dreams and found that the wounds affected him if they went into another dream, he'd never actually tried to enter the dreamscape when he was injured in reality.

He was off balance and though the world about him did not change shape, he felt like his feet were sinking through the ground. He stumbled, stopped, and rested his hands on his knees. Looking up through blurred vision, he could just make out the figures of Cobb and Eames disappearing around the corner with the Russians and - even more disturbing - an exact likeness of himself.

"Come on, Arthur," he murmured, drawing himself up. "Just a little farther."

He took off again at a more moderate pace. He didn't know what he would do when he caught up with the group - in his weakened state, he'd be of little physical value - but for now, he focused simply on getting there.

* * *

Cobb finished explaining the basic set up of the dream world, but Eames could tell the Russians were only politely listening - they weren't interested in all of this preamble, there was another reason they were down here. A glance at Arthur revealed no clues as to what was going on. The boy remained oddly reticent and he could not help but fear the Russians may have damaged Arthur more than he let on.

Pyotr brought them to a stop in front of a bank. "But what about the extraction itself? How do you get information from your targets?"

Cobb glanced at Eames and both men could not conceal the unease they felt. Perhaps this was no different than when Dom would pull out his Mr. Charles act, but this time - the Russians knew they were in a dream, they weren't a target, and they were enemies. The intricacies of dream-sharing and exploiting those dreams could not be shared with just anyone.

Pyotr sensed their hesitation. Without a word, he grabbed Arthur's arm and jerked him over to him.

Cobb got the message. "Oftentimes, depending on the subject, we have a safe or a journal or something private like that. We suggest the idea to the subject, hint that their secrets could be in danger, and they often will put their secrets there at the suggestion."

"I assume you have such a place here?" Pyotr asked.

"Yes." Cobb's expression betrayed that he'd much rather be anywhere other than here, spilling his trade secrets.

"And?" The Russian gave Arthur a shake.

"In here," Cobb submitted with a sigh, indicating the bank behind them.

"Good." Pyotr tossed Arthur over to the other Russian. "You and I will go in then. The rest of you can stay out here."

Eames shifted uneasily, not wanting to leave Cobb alone with the man. But Dom shot a glance at Arthur and then back at the forger. The point was well-taken. Arthur could not be left alone with these men anymore - he was, unfortunately, the most expendable part of their team at the moment. He would be the one to suffer if Eames put up a fuss.

The forger reluctantly held his tongue as Dom and Pyotr disappeared into the bank.

They were only gone for a few minutes when Eames noted the change in the other Russian. Both he and Arthur glanced at each other and appeared to give some sort of signal. The forger shook out his hands, ready for a fight.

But before any of them could move, two gunshots rang out and the remaining Russian and Arthur collapsed on the ground, holding their legs where they had been shot above the knee.

Eames whirled towards the threat, going for his own gun tucked into the back of his pants, but froze when he saw - "Arthur?"

"Eames." This Arthur looked wan and pale as he approached at a staggered pace. He gripped a gun between white-knuckled fingers, trained on the men still groaning on the ground.

The forger's eyes darted between this Arthur and the wounded one. "What game is this?"

"One of the Russians is a forger, Eames," the Arthur with a gun gasped. "They never took me under with you all."

"Don't listen to him! They told me they would bring him in to confuse you!" groaned the Arthur on the ground. "They're trying to trick you!"

Eames brought his gun around and pointed it at the other Arthur. "How do I know which of you is the right one?"

"Ask me something only I would know," the Arthur with the gun spit out half-exasperatedly.

_The attitude certainly suits him._ A wicked thought entered his mind and he grinned at the boy. "Why did I first call you darling?"

The Arthur on the ground was definitely caught off guard with that one. The armed one's cheeks, however, turned a healthy shade of pink and Eames was quite certain now that he had put himself out of favor with the boy. "You had to ask that question, didn't you? You thought I was a girl because my hair was longer then."

"Bravo! Remind me to buy you a drink when we get out of here." He grinned at the young man . A groan from the ground distracted him again and he gestured with his gun to the figures lying there. "So why do you have a doppelganger?"

"I'm not sure." Arthur's face grew pensive as he lowered his own weapon to train on the two men. "We can't let them bleed out though, otherwise they'll - "

"-wake up and do who knows what to our bodies up there, I know. This isn't my first time doing this," Eames finished. His brow crinkled as he took in the point man's appearance. Though there was nothing to alarm him in particular, the boy did seem like he was having a hard time deciding what to do next. "You alright, love?"

Arthur blinked several times. "I'm fine. Just...Cobb...where's Cobb?"

"In the bank, showing Pyotr how we use vaults or safes to get information."

Deep furrows appeared on the point man's forehead. Eames could practically see him putting all of the puzzle pieces together and he had to bite his tongue to keep from pestering the man.

Arthur's eyes hardened and he walked over to his doppelganger. A kick soon had the Russian forger on his back. Arthur put his foot on the man's injured leg and pushed down. "Pyotr's trying to perform extraction on Cobb, isn't he?"

The doppelganger writhed, clawing at the ground, trying to get away from the pain.

Arthur dug his foot in further. "_Isn't he?"_

Eames's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the aggression in his comrade's voice.

The other Arthur finally succumbed to the harsh treatment. "Yes!"

"I thought so..." Arthur turned to Eames. "Come on, we got to get Cobb."

"But -"

"I'll explain on the way." Arthur staggered to the front door of the bank and the forger quickly moved up beside him, concerned that he would fall.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'll be fine. Let's go."

Eames moved to the bank obediently, but kept an eye on the other man. Something was not quite right with their point man.

* * *

Thanks for reading! =D


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own _Inception_.

* * *

Eames followed behind Arthur as they went into the bank. Concern continued to build in the Forger as he noted the young man's stilted pace. Sweat glistened on the man's brow, but there was no sign of any wounds. "So what are these elusive Russians up to?"

Arthur paused as they came to a set of stairs that Cobb and Pyotr would have had to gone up to reach the vault. A look almost of indignation crossed his features, but was gone the next instant as he glanced at Eames. "Well, you just saw that they had a forger. I'm guessing the other was a point man...and Pyotr an extractor."

Eames's brow wrinkled. "An extraction team? But why?"

"They want Cobb's information. Think about it." Arthur led the way up the staircase, his breath catching more than the exercise warranted. "Dom is the best extractor in the business. He's stolen hundreds of secrets. If someone could break into _his_ mind, they would have access to raw blackmail material. Cobb, of course, would never use it, but Pyotr has no such compunctions."

"But surely Pyotr knows that Cobb's mind would be able to defend itself against such attacks?"

"Hmm, one would think so. And that is precisely what concerns me. Pyotr's been smarter than we have given him credit for, so who is to say that he doesn't have some sort of secret weapon that he could use against Dom?"

They reached the top of the stairs at this point. Eames turned to reply and just barely managed to catch Arthur before he fell back down the stairs. "Woah! Easy there, darling. What's wrong?"

"Nothing...nothing..." gasped Arthur. His thin fingers gripped Eames's arm tightly. Cold sweat coated his fingertips.

"What did they do to you?" Eames put his hand on the point man's forehead, while he scanned his body more closely to see if he'd missed something.

With great effort, Arthur pulled away from his touch. "We have to hurry. We don't have time for this."

"Not until you tell me what's wrong with you." The forger grabbed his wrist to keep the young man from taking off again.

Arthur's expression twisted with frustration. "Not now! Just trust me when I saw we don't have time."

With a strength that Eames did not anticipate, the point man twisted himself free and took off down the hall at a sort of limping run. He cursed under his breath and took off after him.

They passed door after door and Eames found himself wondering how Arthur seemed to know exactly where he was going. That question was answered shortly thereafter when the Arthur blazed past the room with the vault in it.

"Arthur!" Eames hissed.

The point man pulled up, glanced back, and nodded when the forger jerked his head towards the door. A faint flush of embarrassment colored his cheeks - something Eames would have surely teased him about under any other circumstance. Now, it only served to heighten his concerns about the young man, for Arthur was never this reckless.

They paused on either side of the door and drew their guns. Eames spared one last glance at the pale man, then grasped the handle of the door. "Ready?"

"Yes."

Eames threw open the door and charged in, Arthur hot on his heels.

Cobb was unconscious, tied to a chair, hooked up to something that looked like a PASIV device. Pyotr stood over him, about to attach himself to the machine. He whirled around at their intrusion, but Eames was already on top of him, disarming him and giving him a few knocks about the head for his trouble.

Arthur moved over to Cobb and examined him and the machine closely. His brow creased in puzzlement. "What on earth are you doing to him?"

Pyotr twisted angrily in Eames's grip. "I knew I should have killed you when I had the chance."

"That's what they all say." A hint of a smile tugged at Arthur's lips.

"Is it a PASIV device?" asked Eames.

"Appears to be." The point man ran his hands over the machine, checking all of the buttons and wires. "It's like they are trying to go under again."

"Again? What? But that's not possible, we're already dreaming."

Arthur was only half-listening to him, his expression one of deep concentration. When he spoke, his voice came out hesitantly, as if her were piecing together a puzzle as he talked. "Maybe...we've never tried anything like that before...a dream within a dream. Could it be?"

The next second, Arthur's face grew dreadfully pale and he sank to his knees, clutching his side.

"What is it? What's the matter?" Eames tightened his grip on Pyotr as the Russian tried to use his distraction as an opportunity to escape.

Arthur shook his head slowly. His dark eyes were frightened. "Nothing. I'm fine. Listen, you have to keep Pyotr here. Don't let him wake up before us."

"Well of course, darling, what else do you think I am doing?" Eames's tone came out sharper than he intended, but he didn't dial it back down. The point man's evasiveness was unsettling. "What are you doing?"

Arthur held the IV line that Pyotr had been about to use. "I'm going to try it."

"Try _what_?"

"Going under again. I've got to get Cobb."

"How do you even know that's what is going on? You don't even know what this mad man might have conjured up. Let me try instead."

Arthur shook his head. "I can't hold Pyotr here. I don't have the strength. You have to do it."

"What do you mean you don't have the strength? What's wrong with you?!"

But it was too late. Arthur had attached himself to the machine and slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

"Do you ever get anything other than salad?" Cobb couldn't help but ask for the hundredth time.

Arthur smiled and jabbed the end of his fork at him. "Just because you like to have meat at all of your meals doesn't mean that the rest of us do."

"But one would think you would get tired of eating plants all of the time."

Arthur laughed and continued to eat.

Dom swirled the wine in his glass a couple of times before he took a sip. Dry, but not too bitter. Just the way he liked it.

A cough from the other side of the table distracted him. He set down his glass. "You alright? Carrot go down the wrong way?"

The fork hit the table with a clatter as Arthur grasped his side. His dark, wide eyes looked up at Dom. "How did we get here, Cobb?"

"What do you mean? We usually have lunch together during a job." Cobb's concern spiked as the young man's face grew even paler.

"No, no. How did we get here?" Arthur's insistent tone started to attract attention from the rest of the restaurant.

"It's okay, Arthur, just calm down."

"No, it's not okay! We're dreaming."

"Arthur -"

Gasps echoed through the place as Arthur brought out a gun.

Dom raised his hands. "You're not thinking clearly, just hold on for a sec-"

Arthur shot him.

* * *

Cobb jerked awake, swearing up a storm.

"Ah, so the little darling succeeded? That was faster than I expected."

"Wh-What?" Dom stammered, his eyes darted around the room and landed on Eames, who was currently holding...Pyotr? Confusion surged through him. "What's going on? Where's Arthur?"

A gasp beside him answered his question. His gaze landed on Arthur's pale form as he too woke up. He seemed to have a better grasp of the situation at the moment for he didn't even acknowledge Cobb as he addressed Eames. "Alright. We have to get out of here, but we need you to stay under a little bit longer to give us a chance to take care of everybody in the real world, okay?"

Eames flashed him his most charming smile. "Of course, darling. Anything you say."

Cobb held out both of his hands. "Hold on. What is going on? Arthur - you shot me."

The point man's face showed not a trace of regret. "Sorry, Dom, it was necessary. I'll explain everything later. Right now, you and I have to wake up and take care of Pyotr and his men. Whatever you may see up there, that is our first priority, got it?"

Dom decided that Arthur should be in charge of more things. He was doing a fantastic job of leading at the moment. "Yeah, I got it."

Pyotr suddenly started laughing, drawing the attention of the other three men. His eyes were focused on Arthur alone. "Did my men prove too much for you?"

"What does he mean?" Cobb asked.

Arthur ignored both of them and pulled out his gun. "Let's go."

And he shot Dom for the second time in the last five minutes.

* * *

Cobb was out of his chair before he was fully awake. A roll of duct tape sat on one of the tables nearby. He grabbed it and started tying all of the Russians to their chairs. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the bodies of the two men that Pyotr had left behind, but he paid them no heed. As long as they weren't attacking him, he was good.

He'd just finished tying up the last Russian when he heard Eames swear.

He turned. "What?"

But he didn't need to ask what had disturbed the forger. The man was already on the ground next to Arthur, whose shirt was covered in blood.

* * *

And we're all going to pretend that Cobb and company have never heard of/tried a dream within a dream before, right? Right. Thank you for your patience once again. I so appreciate your support and all of your reviews. =)


	10. Chapter 10

I do not own _Inception_.

Ahem, so I have a good excuse for the first couple of months - I was terribly busy finishing up school and then went on a two week trip...but for this past month I have absolutely no excuse aside from general laziness and writer's block. I'm a terrible human being, please forgive me. =( Hopefully this will make up for some of the pain of waiting you all have been through.

* * *

Eames kept his coat pressed firmly against Arthur's stomach, but no matter how hard he pressed, the blood kept coming. "We need to drive faster, Dom."

"I'm trying! You can only do so much to cut through traffic without drawing the attention of the police. I hardly think you want them to delay us by pulling us over."

Eames did not respond.

Dom glanced back at him through the rearview mirror. "How is he?"

"He hasn't regained consciousness and by the amount of blood he's lost, I'd say he's been bleeding out for close to a quarter of an hour. He should have never come in after us."

"I know that, but there's no stopping Arthur once he sets his mind on something." Cobb braked as they came to a stoplight. "We have to take him to a hospital. He's not going to live if we don't get him some medical attention."

"You know we can't stay at the hospital long," Eames added as he tried to keep Arthur's head from bobbing in all directions along with the jerky movements of the car. "We weren't exactly subtle when we left Pyotr and his men. It won't take the local authorities long to find them and then they'll be checking every hospital, airport, car rental, and bus station around the city."

"I know that!" Cobb let out a low curse as he nearly sideswiped a bicyclist. "I can call in a few favors, buy us a couple of hours. We'll just have to get him patched up enough to where we can take care of him ourselves."

Eames glanced down at the bloody figure in his lap. Arthur's face looked almost waxen and, given how long he must have been bleeding out before he went into the dream world - "I don't know if we _can_ take of him, Cobb. He's going to need a blood transfusion, possibly even surgery."

"He was only shot once, right?"

"Well, yes, but sometimes that's all it takes. Plus, we have no idea what kind of drugs and other nasty things they might have given him while he was in their care. What the -!" Eames slammed against the side of the car as Cobb suddenly turned into a parking lot. "You do realize we have an _injured man_ back here?!"

"And you do realize that traffic is nearly impossible to navigate around here?" Cobb snapped back as he got out of the car.

Eames caught a glimpse of the rundown hospital they'd arrived at and felt his concern increase.

Cobb jerked the back door open. "I know it's not the best choice, but it's less likely to be checked than one of the nicer hospitals. Plus, I know one of the doctors here who will let us in without asking questions."

Eames reluctantly released his hold on Arthur as Cobb pulled the young man out of the car and carried him bridal style into the hospital. The Forger ran his eyes over the perimeter before following at their heels. Even as unobtrusive as this hospital was, they wouldn't be able to stay long.

It was a testament to how many people were dragged injured and bleeding into this hospital that the nurses and bystanders didn't even blink when Cobb carried Arthur in. In fact, it took a little prompting - or, in Dom's case - shouting and threatening for the nurses to get the doctor he wanted as well as a stretcher to put Arthur on.

Once the doctor came out, he took one glance at Arthur and whipped his staff into motion. Cobb came over and murmured something in his ear that did not make the doctor happy, but in a few seconds, the point man was loaded onto the stretcher and carried off to one of the operating rooms.

Cobb and Eames were left standing in the reception area while impassive faces stared at them from all directions. The Forger headed for the door. "I'm going to put the car out of sight. You did a terrible parking job."

Dom didn't bother to respond, only took a seat in one of the few empty chairs in the waiting area. When Eames came back in, the man was in the exact same position. It was only now that he really took stock of their appearance. Both of them were covered in blood. Their facial hair was rather unsightly and dark circles rimmed their eyes. Eames sat heavily in the chair next to Cobb. "How long do we have?"

"I'll give us two hours. At the most, two and a half. We can't risk staying here past that though. The longer we delay, the more questions people will ask and the less time we will have to get out of here."

"Well we can't just barge into the middle of a surgery and take him out."

"I know, that's why I talked to the doctor before they took him away. I told him to do what he could in two hours, but Arthur has to be ready to leave by then." Dom looked even more haggard at the mere thought of moving the point man in his fragile state.

"And where will we go after that? I imagine we're not splitting up as usual?"

"No. We'll try to make it over the border before tomorrow. I have a safehouse located near there. We'll stop to give Arthur a break. I'll give Mal a call - she always has backup plans in case a mission goes sour. I'm sure she'll have something."

Eames settled back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him, and crossing his arms over his chest. The blood made his clothes cling to him rather unpleasantly, but he hardly noticed as he mulled over the merits and flaws of the plan they were to undertake. Flashes of Arthur's pale face from the dream world kept popping up in his mind. The way he kept pressing on even when he knew he was more than likely dying. _Why didn't you say something, mate?_

But the answer was plain as day: he wanted to save Cobb and Eames.

Perhaps the boy had no imagination. Perhaps he was a stickler for rules and precision. But Arthur was also one of the bravest men he knew and if he died, Eames would go back and dismantle Pyotr and his team with his bare hands.

* * *

Cobb kept twitching and looking at his watch every five seconds.

Eames sighed. "If we need to go, just say so. I'll go in and get Arthur myself if that is what's bothering you."

"No, I just...I'm trying to give him as much time as I can, but I don't know how much longer we can delay."

A new sound greeted Eames's ears and had him jumping to his feet. "Not much longer at all if those sirens are anything to judge by."

Cobb scrambled to his feet and followed Eames to the back of the hospital where the operating rooms were located. It wasn't difficult to find Arthur's room, given that a majority of the staff were milling around in the area. The doctor gave them an exasperated look as they came in.

"Dis boy..." he struggled to get the words out in English. "Dis boy...no move!"

"Sorry, mate, dis boy gotta move." Eames shouldered his way to the bedside and examined the various wires and machines attached to Arthur while Cobb forced the doctor to give them some basic care instructions.

Arthur looked even smaller and younger dressed in only a hospital gown. He was still far too pale, but his heart rate held steady according to the monitors. A large swath of bandages could be seen under the paper thin gown and Eames winced as he began to detach the point man from the machines. "Sorry, darling, this is probably going to hurt."

He gathered the man up in his arms and turned towards the door. Cobb held a bag in his hands that the doctor rapidly filled with various medications, bandages, water bottles, and even an IV drip. In return, Dom gave him a large roll of bills. "Alright, let's go."

As they came out into the hall, they could hear commotion up in the reception area as the police arrived. The Forger led the way to the exit out back. "Don't worry. I parked in an alley."

They reached the car in record time: Dom jumping into the front seat and Eames and Arthur in the back again. Cobb gunned the car into action, flying out of the alleyway, into the busy street, before the other two men were properly settled. "I swear, Dom, if you get us into a car accident on top of everything else -"

"Shut up! I'm driving."

Eames pressed his lips together and glanced back. Fortunately, the cops were far too interested in swarming the hospital to pay much attention to them. It took several more uneventful miles before he allowed himself to relax and when he did, he noticed that Arthur's eyes were open. "Hey there, mate. Sorry about the rough ride, we're trying to be as gentle as we can."

"He's awake?" Cobb asked.

The Forger ignored the question.

Arthur swallowed a few times, but didn't attempt to speak. To Eames' concern, the point man's brown eyes filled with tears that silently ran down his temples and soaked into the fabric of Eames' pants. "Are you in pain?"

It was a dumb question, but Arthur had a high pain tolerance and if he were crying, that meant things were bad. Eames rummaged around in the bag the doctor had given them and pulled out a water bottle and some pain killers. It took some effort, but he managed to get the pills into Arthur without choking him.

The point man kept crying.

"Sorry, darling." Eames brushed away a few of the tears with his thumb. "We'll get you out of this. I promise."


	11. Chapter 11

I do not own _Inception_.

What wonder from yonder writer breaks? It is an update and all within a week! And, believe it or not, that is not the only surprise in store for you all - _Point Man_ only has one more chapter after this one! Woohoo, and we thought we'd never make it! (Well, I sure did). Thank you for your kind reviews - I appreciate them so much. Enjoy! =D

* * *

It was nearly four in the morning when they finally crossed the border and reached Cobb's safe house. The whole trip Arthur went in and out of consciousness, either too loopy on medication or in too much pain to talk. Cobb and Eames took turns driving, but even so, all of them were exhausted when they finally entered the house.

They laid Arthur on one of the beds and changed his bandages. His wound, though an angry red, did not appear to be infected nor was it bleeding any more. The point man did have trouble sleeping or staying asleep once he managed to nod off though.

"Can you stay with him? I'm going to call Mal," Cobb said.

Eames sank down into a chair beside Arthur's bed, holding a bowl of cool water that he occasionally dipped a washcloth into and put on his forehead. But even the coolness of the water did little to help the point man relax.

Cobb spared one last glance at the two of them before he pulled out his cell phone and dialed. It range once and then his wife was on the line, "What's wrong?"

He chuckled. "How do you know something is wrong?"

"Because it's almost eleven in the morning here which means it's sometime around four or five there. You don't make a habit of waking at that ungodly hour, so I repeat, what's wrong?"

He sighed, knowing he had much to account for. In all honesty, he should have let her know the instant Arthur was kidnapped, but he couldn't bear to have her worrying on top of his own worry. At least now they had the point man back. "Arthur's badly wounded."

"And how did this happen?" Her tone sharpened.

"I'm going to tell you, but you have to promise me you won't interrupt until I've finished the whole story."

Mal's tone only grew in concern. "Alright, I promise."

It took a good twenty minutes to get her caught up on their situation and when he finished, she was silent for several seconds. "Mal?"

"He's had medical attention, you say?" He winced when he heard her voice. He was going to have a _lot _of apologizing to do when he got home.

"Yes, but I don't want to move him any more than necessary. If there's a way to get him home faster without us having to drive all the way to the nearest international airport, I'd greatly appreciate it."

Mal sighed on the other end. "I have an old pilot friend of mine who owes me a favor. He might be able to land close to the safe house. You may still have to drive another thirty, forty miles, but he can take you from there."

"Thank you, Mal."

"Mmm, just bring him back safely."

"I will. I love you."

"I love you too, Dom, I just wish you wouldn't keep things from me."

"I'll try not to, from now on."

"I guess that's as good as I'm going to get right now. Try to get some rest. I'll call you when I have anything."

"Alright."

She hung up.

When Cobb turned around, Eames was leaning against the doorframe of Arthur's room. "What'd she say?"

"She's going to get us out of here, but it'll be at least a few hours, if not a day. In the meantime, we should shower and get cleaned up. We're starting to look like hobos. This place has some extra clothes so feel free to help yourself."

Eames gestured towards the small bathroom. "Go ahead, I'll go second."

Cobb was too tired to argue.

The Forger sat back down next to Arthur's bed as he heard the shower start up. The point man kept shifting anxiously in his sleep, his eyes moving rapidly beneath his eyelids. "It's alright, darling, you can relax. We got you out. You're safe."

Arthur woke with a gasp. "E-Eames?"

The other man quickly got over his astonishment and offered a small smile. "That's me. I know I don't look my best, but according to you I never do, so this should be no surprise."

Arthur made no comment, but his eyes roamed the area, taking in the unfamiliar cabin. "Where are we?"

"One of Cobb's safe houses. We'll be on our way home this time tomorrow. What's wrong?"

The point man's face had taken on a strange, panicked expression. Before Eames could do anything to stop him, Arthur shifted haphazardly into a sitting position. His legs moved feebly under the sheets as he attempted to swing them off of the bed.

"What on earth are you doing, love?" It took dishearteningly little effort to push the other man back into the bed.

Arthur lay there, panting, sweat causing the longer strands of his hair to stick to his forehead. "This isn't real, this isn't real."

"Of course it is, darling. Don't you remember how you got here?" Eames cursed himself the minute he asked that question. Of _ course _the man didn't remember. He was half-delirious and pumped up on all sorts of drugs and painkillers. He switched tactics. "Look, ask me anything, anything I alone would know. I know Pyotr is good, but even he can't possibly know everything there is to know about me."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. It was clear he didn't trust the Forger as far as he could thrown him, but he also seemed to realize that there was no way out of this mess but to play along. "What's your favorite pub to eat at and what do you normally eat there?"

Eames grinned. "You're going to make me hungry with that one. But I'll indulge you since you're unwell. The Barge, beef and Guinness pie. I don't have a favorite drink there though because I'm determined to try all of their drinks before I settle on one. Since I don't make it to Ireland very often, it's going to take a while."

A faint smile appeared on Arthur's face, though he still looked rather wary. "What's the strangest pet you've had?"

"I once had a sugar glider named Alonso, but unfortunately I had to give him away because I discovered that most airplanes frown upon bringing such a creature aboard. And since I travel so much, I couldn't find a reliable person to pet sit for me, so allonsy Alonso."

This time a big smile brightened the pale face. "Favorite Doctor?"

"Nine by a small margin. He's sassy and really should have had more than one season, but alas, such is the Whovian world. Besides the Doctor is the Doctor no matter who plays him."

The point man relaxed. "Eames. You're real."

"Well, I've always been real, darling."

"You know what I mean."

"Quite. Listen, I've got something for you." Eames dug around in his coat pocket, aware that Arthur watched him with an intense, curious stare - almost as if he expected the Forger to fade away before his very eyes. His fingers finally brushed against what he was looking for and he pulled it out, keeping it hidden in the palm of his hand. "I managed to get this off of Pyotr before we left the warehouse. Open your hand."

Arthur hesitated.

"I promise it won't hurt you."

The point man finally relinquished one of his hands, tilting it palm up on the bed. As soon as Eames pressed the small piece into his hand, Arthur's eyes filled with tears. "My totem?"

"Yes. I understand you may want a new one now, but at least you can rest assured that no one can use this one against you anymore."

Arthur held the die up to his face, examining each side carefully. His voice was hardly more than a whisper when he spoke. "Thank you, Eames. You have no idea how important this is to me."

The Forger cleared his throat against the sudden lump that had developed in it. "You're welcome. I'm sorry we couldn't avoid this mess altogether."

"I'm afraid the risk is simply another factor of this job. The best we can do is learn from our mistakes and move on." Arthur closed his hand around the die.

Eames was saved from having to make a response as Cobb knocked on the door. "The shower's free."

"Okay." The Forger stood up. "Get some rest, Arthur."


	12. Chapter 12

Well, here we are. Can you believe that we've actually reached the end of _Point Man_? I can't either. Thank you all so much for your support, your reviews, and your PMs that kept me motivated to finish this story. It took way longer than it should have, but without you all, it probably never would have been finished.

Small note: the Cobb's have a small home in England at this point in time. I know they live in the States in the movie, but for now they're in England.

Enjoy! =)

Disclaimer: I do not own _Inception_.

* * *

It was well into the afternoon when Dom finally received a call from Mal. Throughout the night he and Eames had taken turns keeping an eye on Arthur, so by the time the call came, they had each had at least a few hours of sleep. Arthur slept fitfully through the whole night, but it was better than nothing.

Now Eames and Arthur watched as Cobb jotted down directions on a slip of paper. "Uh-huh, yeah...got it...Thanks Mal, see you in a few hours...bye."

Dom hung up the phone and gave the other two a small smile. "We have a location."

"Then let's get out of this dump. I'm ready for one of Mal's homemade meals." Eames stood up, throwing on a jacket.

"And what makes you think she'll make you food?" asked Arthur.

"No one can resist my charm, mate." Eames waggled his eyebrows rather disturbingly.

Dom came over behind Arthur as the man sat up. "Do you think you can walk?"

"I'd certainly rather try than be carried again."

Eames chuckled. "Don't fancy being the damsel in distress? I wouldn't strain myself for the sake of my vanity, love."

Arthur scowled at him. "Oh yes you would."

"Well...true, but fortunately for me, I'm far too large for people to carry me anyway. Unlike -" That was as far as Eames got before he got a face full of pillow.

"Nice shot," Cobb laughed as he helped the point man to his feet.

They staggered slowly to the car, Arthur clearly laboring to put one foot in front of the other, but there was no way he wasn't going to leave the cabin under his own power. "I may...be small...Mr. Eames...but I'm stronger...than I look...people always...underestimate me...gives me an element...of surprise."

"That it does, darling." Eames followed them out. "That it does."

* * *

The plane ride out to England, where Mal waited for them, was a bumpy, uncomfortable business, given that the private plane was barely big enough to seat the three of them and the pilot. Arthur had a hard time getting comfortable with all of the turbulence jostling his injury and, by the time they landed, he had lost all color in his face and nearly fell unconscious.

"Easy there, love," Eames murmured as he helped Arthur stagger to his feet.

Cobb gathered their equipment and opened the door to the runway. It was a short drop to the ground, but even so, Arthur had a difficult time navigating it so that he would land on his feet and not his face.

Dom caught the man as he wobbled on the tarmac and behind him, he heard a soft gasp. "Oh Arthur! Dom, you didn't tell me he was this bad off."

And before anyone could offer any explanations or excuses, Mal bustled in between the men and took Arthur's face in her hands. "Poor dear, you have a fever."

"I'll be alright," the point man said faintly. "I just need to rest."

"Yes, and had I known you were this bad off, I would have forbidden you from traveling so soon." She shot a reprimanding look at the other two. "Come on, my car is just over there."

By the time they got on the road, Arthur was half-asleep, resting on Eames's shoulder, who kept him from falling over and putting too much pressure on his wound. Mal and Dom kept up a steady, but soft stream of conversation as Cobb caught her up on all that had happened.

It was late afternoon by the time they reached the Cobb's home. As they got out of the car, Mal said, "I called Miles after you called me. I figured he could help us. Plus, he's rather fond of Arthur."

The point man smiled as Eames helped him to the house. Having no close family of his own, Arthur loved Miles's grandfatherly attention and, as the old man appeared on the doorstop, his smile widened.

"What have you gotten yourself into this time, young man?" Miles ran a critical eye over the point man's frame.

"It's just a scratch, really," he said.

It was hard to judge who snorted louder - Dom or Eames. Miles just shook his head and held the door open. "I have trouble believing that, but come inside. The kettle's just boiled and I'll fix you all a cup of tea."

* * *

In the upcoming weeks of Arthur's recovery, it was truly a miracle that they didn't all kill each other. Working together was one thing, but when five people of such different personalities lived together in close quarters, tempers were bound to run high.

Eames managed to drive the whole Cobb family, Miles included, crazy with his laidback, carefree attitude. In turn, he came to realize that all Cobbs were a bit high-strung and never knew when to take a break, so he ended up spending most of his days exploring the local pubs.

Arthur, though grateful for the Forger's concern, was relieved when he left the house because it meant there was one less person to mother him. The first few days he could understand since he could hardly get out of bed without assistance. But as he grew stronger and started to recover, he couldn't even go to the bathroom without one of them waiting outside the door when he got out.

By the time he had reached the one month anniversary of his shooting and they still cared for him with kid gloves, he'd had enough. At dinner that night - one where Mal had cut all of his food for him and Dom practically ran to the kitchen to get something if Arthur mentioned he wanted it, while Eames watched everything with a smirk - the point man set down his fork and looked at them all. "I can't do this anymore."

They all looked back at him.

Dom ventured a question. "Do what?"

"This," Arthur gestured around at the house. "This living together and having one of you shadow my footsteps everywhere I go. I've lived on my own since I was sixteen and I haven't needed help to make it. I made my own way. And yes, I understand I'm still recovering, but I'm well enough to take care of myself. So could I please go to my own apartment in the city? If not for my own sake, then for the sake of our friendship, because we're going to kill each other if we keep this up."

Mal and Dom looked too shocked to respond, though he could already see the protests forming on their lips. Miles just smiled at him in understanding. But Eames laughed. "Told you he wouldn't take this mollycoddling long, Cobb. You got to give a man room to breathe."

Arthur narrowed his eyes at him. "Oh, and you've been good at that?"

"Better than them." The Forger winked and shoved a spoonful of potatoes into his mouth.

"But what about your appointments?" Dom asked.

"What if you fall and injure yourself?" Mal asked.

They started tag-teaming.

"What if you reopen your stitches?"

"What if you get an infection?"

"What if you can't reach something?"

Miles intervened before Arthur could lose his cool. "Now, now. Dom, Mal, control yourselves. I think Arthur is in the right this time." He held up a hand to stop their protests. "I think we should let him go to his apartment, provided that one of us can check on him once a day and take him to his appointments. Does that sound fair?"

It was better than nothing, so Arthur nodded. After several moments of hesitation, the Cobbs agreed as well.

"Good, then let's finished our supper, shall we?" Miles sipped from his teacup as if nothing had happened.

Arthur decided he really liked Miles.

* * *

The next month of recovery went much more smoothly. Arthur was able to have his space for most of the time, with only a couple hours of visits every day from one of the team. Much to his surprise, he found that Eames was the one he most enjoyed receiving as a visitor.

They were both as opposite as they could be, but Eames seemed to know instinctively when to push and when to leave him alone. He never stayed past his allotted time of visiting hours unless Arthur invited him to, while the Cobbs had the unfortunate habit of overstaying their welcome.

So, when it was Eames's turn to visit one day, Arthur surprised him by opening the door and saying, "We're going shopping."

The Forger's mouth twitched with a sly smile. "Oh we are, are we? No offense, love, but isn't that something girls do when they hang out?"

Arthur brushed past him into the hall, knocking their shoulders together. "I'm tired of looking like a teenager. We're going to do something about that."

Again, Eames found himself hard-pressed to keep several smart comments from escaping. The thought of Pyotr and his gang picking Arthur as their target because he looked younger and weaker wiped the smile from his face. "Okay. What's our plan of attack?"

Arthur shot him a suspicious glance over his shoulder. "I didn't expect you to capitulate so easily."

"Why, darling, surely you know I'm a man who can appreciate one developing a sense of style." Eames brushed his hands over the ugly yellow jacket he wore as he decidedly ignored Arthur's use of capi...capt...whatever that word was.

"I hardly think what you're wearing could be called an outfit, much less that it has style."

Eames grinned as they hailed a cab and got in. This shopping venture was bound to be interesting.

* * *

Several sweater vests, dress pants, and a trip to the barber's later, Eames found himself waiting outside a dressing room as Arthur tried on a suit.

He was just about to nod off when Arthur came out. He'd slicked back his hair and now wore a smart, black, three-piece suit. He still looked young, but no longer vulnerable. His whole posture adamantly declared that he was a professional and no one in their right mind should try to take advantage of him.

"Well, darling, I think you found what you were looking for."

Arthur's face broke out into a wide smile. "I believe I did, Mr. Eames."


End file.
